


Of Penpals and Sonnets

by someofthissomeofthat11011



Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:17:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someofthissomeofthat11011/pseuds/someofthissomeofthat11011
Summary: From Bram's POV. In English, they’re doing a unit on poems. They have to write their own version of different well known poems. Simon and Bram inadvertently find out who they are and they start to communicate through their poems.





	Of Penpals and Sonnets

 

_So much depends_

_upon_

_a sweet_

_Reese’s cup_

_Covered with_

_chocolate_

_and fully_

_delicious._

 

Simon reads his poem aloud dramatically. I laugh alongside most of our class.

“Entertaining as always Mr. Spier,” Mr. Wise says in a monotone voice. In defense of him, this is the sixth class in a row that Simon made his poem about Reese’s. In defense of Simon, he really likes Reese’s. I would never admit this, but it’s almost endearing how much he likes them. He’s not like most of the guys in our grade that can be wishy-washy when it comes to what they want and who they like. I get the idea that Simon is the kind of person that will love deeply when he falls for someone. The idea makes my heart ache.

We've been doing a unit on poetry and Mr. Wise got this idea of us recreating popular poems. Instead of looking for meaning, we rewrite them about stuff that we like. Simon REALLY likes Reese’s.

Today, we studied “The Red Wheelbarrow” by William Carlos Williams. I think Mr. Wise is just really over teaching us. We already took our AP exam, which is the whole point of this class. It leaves us with almost an entire month of practically nothing to do in class, except pretend to analyze poems apparently.

I would never tell anyone this, but I actually love this. I think there's so much meaning in poetry; it gives me hope. The part I don't like is having to share the poems I make. Jacques seems to think that I'm some kind of deep poet, but it takes a lot of thought for me to create something meaningful. Definitely more than the twenty minutes we're given. The post that got us started way back in August took me over an hour to compose and then another hour to have a heated argument with myself about whether or not I was actually going to post it.

I’m usually one of the last to go in the hopes that the bell will ring before I have to read mine, but Mr. Wise is freakishly good at timing it so that everyone can share. I envy most of the kids in our class. Half our class does drama, so they’re naturals when it comes to performing or speaking in front of people. I’m the exact opposite. Reading these poems is the most I’ve talked in class all year.

I think Mr. Wise has picked up on my system, because today I am the first person he calls on after there are no more volunteers.

 

_So much is_

_better_

_in the crisp_

_fall air._

_With the swirling_

_leaves_

_and_

_possibility._

 

I sit down the moment the words are out. I know a lot of my classmates are staring at me, so I pointedly look at my desk. It’s strange how poetry makes me feel so vulnerable even when I’m talking about some pretty small things. The way I feel in the fall doesn’t define me by any means, but when I put words to it, I feel like it does. I still feel Simon’s eyes on me after Joel has started reading his poem. Simon is like that. He tends to stare just longer than appropriate. I’m not even sure if he realizes he does it, so I try not to overthink it when that stare is directed towards me.

After a moment, he looks away and I feel like I can breathe again. I am surprised when we finish early and Simon asks if he can read a second poem. “If you would like to express your interest in Reese’s, you will have to wait until tomorrow,” Mr. Wise tells him.

“It’s not about Reese’s,” Simon promises. Mr. Wise nods to let him know he may share. I don’t think it’s my imagination that he looks right at me as he starts to deliver his poem.

 

_So much depends_

_upon_

_the secret_

_within._

_Safety of_

_silence_

_and someone who_

_gets it._

 

My heart is pounding when he finishes and I can’t figure out why. I don’t understand why his poem inspired so much feeling in me or why he looked at me while he read it out loud. I feel like there’s something I’m missing, but I can’t figure out what that something is.

“Very interesting Mr. Spier,” Mr. Wise acknowledges. “Tomorrow we are looking at “To My Dear and Loving Husband” on page 769 of your textbook, so please read through it and get all the innuendos out of your system before my class.”

The bell rings a few seconds later and Simon’s poem is soon forgotten.

The next day, I’m sitting in my seat as Garrett performs a pretty epic rewrite in which he’s speaking to his favorite video game. He has all of us in tears because we are laughing so hard.

Then it’s Simon’s turn. He looks at me again and I try to figure out the strange emotion on his face. I would almost say it is fear.

 

_To My Friend and Confidant._

_For many months we have walked these great halls;_

_In cyberspace we have constructed walls._

_Separating real from fake, me from you;_

_This anonymity makes me feel Blue._

_I want to know if you’re the one I seek;_

_Is it you? The one with all the mystique._

_My heart: it beats fast and my palms: they sweat;_

_And still I ask for more, more to come yet._

_My day would be dark, gloomy, and wrong;_

_If it wasn’t for your wit all day long._

_Do you understand what I’m trying to say;_

_I wouldn't have you any other way._

 

Mr. Wise tells him it’s refreshing that his whole poem isn’t about Reeses and tells him to take his seat. I feel all the blood drain from my face as I stare at the back of Simon’s head once he’s sitting down. It could very well be a coincidence that after several days of writing about Reese’s, he has decided to branch out. It could even be a coincidence that he talked about anonymity and cyberspace. The part that I have trouble believing is a coincidence is when he says he feels blue.

Could that have been a message to me? Does he somehow know who I am? The only way he could have is if he is…

I need a minute.

I am not pacing the hallway. I did not raise my hand and ask to go to the bathroom so that I could pace back and forth and freak out. That wouldn’t make any sense. It would make just about as much sense as Simon Spier being gay and being my secret penpal. But I guess a lot of things don’t make sense in this world because here I am and the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that’s what he was saying in his poem.

How could he have figured out who I am? In my poems, I talked about the smell of a new notebook, the sound of pages turning in a book, and the feelings of fall. I was careful to avoid anything that really defines me, but the second I think that I realize that those are things Jacques knows about me. He knows how I feel about school supplies and books being opened for the first time and how I feel about fall. If Simon is Jacques, and that’s a big if, he may very well have connected all those dots and may know who I am.

I consider staying out here. There’s something alluring about the idea of never going back to class, never having to read my poem. I know that I can’t do that. It’s not even about the potential of getting in trouble.

I have to know.

I have to know if Simon is my Jacques. It’s so impossible. Girls actually fawn over Simon. He always knows what to say and while he’s not athlete-level popular, he’s well-known and well-liked. And he always seems like he’s flirting with people. I remember how surprised I was when I found out that he and Leah weren’t dating our sophomore year.

There are some other indisputable facts that I force myself to acknowledge, facts that give me hope. He hasn’t had a girlfriend in almost two years and given how much girls at this school like him, it’s gotta be his choice. I know for sure that Casey Marcuso wanted to ask him out earlier this year because she had talked about it during history class two days in a row. I never really gave it much thought after that, but clearly they’re not dating. And to my knowledge, they never dated. Another indisputable fact is that he doesn’t go to Chick-fil-a. Simon and his friends talked about it at lunch one day. He didn’t give a specific reason, he just said that he didn’t like how they treated some people. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. I stopped going there a few years ago myself when I found out that they are anti-gay. Could that have been what he meant or am I reading too much into it? And then there was his poem. What else could it have meant?

So if these things are true, if he’s intentionally not dating girls and boycotting Chick-fil-a and writing poems about cyberspace, why can’t it be because he’s gay? Why can’t he be the boy I’ve been emailing for almost nine months? Why is it so impossible for us to have found each other?

It’s because that’s what I’ve heard my whole life. Love doesn’t just happen, because this isn’t a storybook. What are the odds that two closeted gay guys start talking and fall in love? The moment the thought pops into my head, I realize that I would place that bet because that’s exactly what has happened.

I have no idea of Simon is actually Jacques or if Jacques loves me. But I do know that despite the fact that I’ve never had an actual in-person conversation with Jacques, and if Simon is actually Jacques that is still true, I have fallen in love with him. Deeply, ridiculously, and unreasonably in love with him.

I get back to the classroom, but the poem I wrote now seems inadequate. I quickly rewrite it. My heart is thumping and I feel like everything depends on this moment. It’s pretty bad, but it will get the job done.

 

_To My Mysterious Penpal._

_Terror, panic, and fear are what I feel;_

_Anytime I think of making this thing real._

_I feel like I’m spiraling down a free fall;_

_Down and down I go until I feel so small._

_Is it the truth that waits for me down there;_

_Or is it you who will complete this pair._

_It is so hard for me to understand;_

_That you and they are one and the same._

_There’s one thought in my head as I fall on and on;_

_And it’s that it doesn’t seem like the fall is so long._

_All is not lost as I fall from the sky;_

_Maybe with you, I’ll even learn how to fly._

 

My poem didn’t rhyme as well as it should have and not every line had the ten syllables that the original poem has, but I am still proud of it. If Mr. Wise notices my inconsistencies, he doesn’t say anything. As I take my seat, I know it’s not my imagination that Simon doesn’t take his eyes off of me.

On Wednesday, we are studying haikus.

 

_Hippopotamus._

_No animals have seven._

_A rhinoceros._

 

I stare at Garrett. His poem at least had the correct number of syllables in each line, which is more than we can say about Chris’ haiku about video games. Mr. Wise should probably set some type of parameter when he asks us to write these poems. Then again, he would probably have to pay attention to what we are doing and as Simon goes to the front of the classroom, I think it’s a very good idea to keep him and our classmates as oblivious to our poems as possible.

 

_It is indeed me._

_That will catch you when you fall._

_You need have no fears._

 

I smile to myself. It’s him. It’s really him. I expected to feel gut-wrenching terror, but I don’t. I mostly feel at peace. I think I’ve been building up my first meeting with Jacques so much in my head that I was turning it into this impossible moment. But it’s happening. We know who we are.

I realize that I may be ready for him to know who I am, but I’m not ready for the whole school to know. Keeping that in mind, I begin to write.

 

_Silence is our friend._

_Until I am more ready._

_I hope you can wait._

 

I hate myself a little as I read it out loud. I don’t think anyone can make heads or tails over my poem, but I know it means something to Simon. I can’t look at him as I take my seat.

When the bell rings, I take my time packing up so that I won’t have to look at Simon. I am surprised when a piece of paper is dropped on top of my notebook.

My name is written on top in messy handwriting. I look up to see Simon disappearing out the door. I carefully open it.

 

_“I will wait for you._

_As long as you need me to._

_Nothing is too much._

 

I feel like I might cry. Or scream. I carefully fold up the note and have to run to my next class to avoid being late. We’re watching a movie in history - Mr. Wise isn’t the only one that doesn’t know what to do with us now that AP exams are over. I take this chance to compose my response. It seems silly to continue writing poems to him, but it also seems fitting.

 

_You will not have long._

_Soon we should talk about this._

_But for now, sorry._

 

I’m not as good at this as he is and I don’t know that a haiku is the best form of poetry for us to talk about our feelings through, but it is what it is.

I give him the note at lunch. I think I’m subtle, but Garrett gives me a weird look that makes me second guess myself.

Garrett knows I’m gay, but I haven’t told him about the poems. I don’t know if he’d understand or if he’d think it is silly that we don’t come right out and talk to each other. So I keep this to myself for now.

Thursday, we are studying acrostic poems. I think everyone hates Edgar Allan Poe a little bit right now, because Mr. Wise’s inspiration was “A Valentine.” It is really hard to write an acrostic poem. The first letter of the first line then the second letter of the second line until you have some type of message. It takes too much thought AND it needs to rhyme in couplets. Who does that?

But we power through it, mostly because we don’t have a choice. Most of our poems make no sense and I have a lot of trouble figuring out what the hidden word is in many of them, except for Martin’s whose poem is “pizza, pizza, pizza, pizza, pizza.” His is easy enough to figure out.

I listen carefully when Simon gets up there. I have my poem written out and at this point, nothing is going to change it, but I’m eager to see if he managed to slip anything into his. I write it down as he speaks so that I can be sure I don’t miss it. His poem is a little weird, but as I count letters, I realize he did manage to slip in a hidden message. I underline the letters that are a part of his message.

_ B _ _efore everything changes._

_A Ll the things that are going through my head. _

_I’m Ultra obsessed with our exchanges. _

_I ne Ed you like I need bread. _

_I see Monkeys at the zoo. _

_Ayaya Y that’s what I think. _

_Always Be with me through health and flu. _

_Last and Least or so I think. _

_All I need Under the flame. _

_Is to know W e have a future. _

_Someone see S us but there’s no shame. _

_What we have i S pure._

Blue. My Blue. SS. I can only assume the SS is his initials, like he’s signing a note. I’d never given much thought to his initials before. The more I read it, the more I think I understand the message of his poem. It’s weird, but it is all about me and having hope for our future.

I shoot him a shy smile as he’s sitting down and his face practically lights up. I raise my hand to volunteer to go next, which surprises every single person in our AP English class. I know my poem is going to be shorter than his and my message is causing me to feel like there’s something sitting on my chest, so I know I need to get this out of the way.

 

_Long ago, back several months._

_SOme brave kid bore his soul._

_I’m Very grateful that our paths._

_CamE together and made me whole._

_I am aBle to now clearly see._

_That aLl I want to happen soon._

_No if’s, bUts or ands with thee._

_You and mE together soon._

 

I look up to see Simon writing frantically in his notebook. When he finishes, he looks up at me and I feel like I can melt then and there. There’s a look of such affection on his face that I’m tempted to kiss him right in front of our classmates. Just as I think I actually might do it, my brain starts to function again and I take my seat.

At lunch, Simon complains that he thinks Mr. Wise hates him, because he’s quick to criticize his work and slow to compliment it. I’ve never noticed that before and I make a mental note to pay more attention to that in class so I can determine whether he’s being dramatic or if this is legitimate.

Finally, it’s Friday. I will have an entirely poem free weekend. These poems are really starting to mess with my head and I worry that I’m going to completely give myself away if I don’t have some kind of break.

We’re studying Shakespeare Sonnet #18. That’s it. It doesn’t get a title, just a number. Simon calls it ‘freaking ridiculous’ and compares it to numbering children if you have more than one. He actually asks Mr. Wise to call him ‘Spier child #2.’ Mr. Wise just rolls his eyes and asks us to start composing our poems. Maybe this is why Mr. Wise doesn’t like him, because he insults Shakespeare.

When Mr. Wise asks for volunteers, Simon is the first one to raise his hands. He gives me a weird look before he starts to read.

 

_Shall I compare thee to the bluest seas?_

_Thou art more calm, caring, and kind._

_The path we seek, shaken by a rough breeze._

_Much hate separates the shore we must find._

_Despite all the hate that lingers between._

_You give me hope for a new beginning._

_You see, you’re the one, you are my bluegreen._

_Trouble and triumph make me want to sing._

_Your name between my fair lips sounds so right._

_More than Reese’s. And more than Oreos._

_It’s you that I need to keep in my sight._

_I’m in love with you, everyday it grows._

_So my dear Blue in my computer screen._

_I’m all in if you are ready to be seen._

I’m pretty sure my mouth is agape and it’s becoming difficult for me to understand what is happening. The first thing I process is that his poem is amazing. Mr. Wise lets him know he needs to work on his iambic pentameter, but I think it’s perfect just the way it is. I’m starting to realize that Simon may not be wrong about Mr. Wise hating him, because as more students volunteer, Mr. Wise doesn’t criticize anyone else’s attempts at iambic pentameter and Simon’s was not the worst.

My brain seems to be telling me something, but I can’t quite figure out what that is. At first, Simon lingers up front, staring at me as if he’s waiting for some kind of reaction. When he doesn’t get one, he takes his seat.

It isn’t until halfway through Garrett’s sonnet that my brain catches up with my body’s reaction. He wants to meet me… I guess technically we’ve already met, but he wants to put aside the poems and the emails and actually meet me. And he said love. I know he said love, because I heard him say love. Right?… it was definitely love. It wasn’t like or care for. Love. He said love.

Before I make the conscious decision to do so, I pull out a new piece of paper and my hand starts to move of its own volition.

 

_Shall I compare thee to a classic song._

_Full of meaning and inspiring all._

_It is you that I look for all day long._

_It’s you that I’ll be with for the long haul._

_I never thought I’d be ready for this._

_It’s scary showing how you truly feel._

_But it’s you that I want to meet and kiss._

_Love’s the only word, this is the real deal._

_So maybe I’m ready, maybe I’m not._

_I want to find out if all’s as it seems._

_Now that I know I will not, I cannot._

_Forget that you are the one of my dreams._

_So name the time, name the place, name it all._

_I’m finally ready, no need to stall._

It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, but I don’t have the time to make it perfect. When I begin to read it out loud, I can feel Simon’s eyes on me. When I get to my last couplet, I look away from my paper and right at Simon.

I have no idea what happens next and I don’t know that he’s thought this far ahead, because he just looks a little pale as I take my seat.

I spend the remainder of the period second guessing every decision I’ve ever made in this class. If I’m being honest, I spend my next several periods second guessing my decisions. Until Simon intercepts me at my locker. “Follow me.”

I follow him to the locker room in the auditorium. It’s empty and private - exactly what we need. He pulls a pack of Oreos out of his bag. “I know it’s not the best lunch-” he starts to say.

“It’s perfect,” I interrupt. “You planned ahead.”

“I was prepared either way,” he shrugs. “I figured it was kinda 1/99 and in case that one percent pulled through for me, I was ready.”

I can’t help but chuckle a little. “You only gave me one percent? Give me a little more. It was at least 25/75.”

“Well, on Wednesday you literally said you wanted to wait,” he points out.

“And you said you were fine with that.” I frown. “What changed?”

“Your poem yesterday. Love, Blue? I could barely keep myself in my seat,” Simon admits. “I guess I didn’t really let myself think about it, but… I dunno. Reading that as your hidden message…” He looks so flustered. “Do you believe it’s possible to fall in love over email?”

“Yes,” I whisper. A chill runs down my back that has nothing to do with how cold it is in here. A long silence falls between us. I know what I need to say, but it seems to be stuck in my throat. Three little words shouldn’t be so hard to say, but once they’re out, there’s no taking them back. I clear my throat, but the words still remain stuck there. I suddenly feel like it’s really hot in here. I hope I’m not sweating through my sweater and the more I think about it, the more nervous I get that that may be the case.

“Bram?” Simon asks. I look up at him. “I believe you can fall in love over email too.” He bites his lip. “I love you.”

I close my eyes and my cheeks feel tight from how big I’m smiling. It takes me a minute to get to the point where I don’t feel like a shriek is going to come out when I speak. Once I get there, I open my eyes. I hold his hands, possibly tighter than I should have but he doesn’t complain. “I love you too.”

Simon leans in and my eyes flutter closed. He’s squeezing my hands really tight, the only indication that he’s as nervous as I am. I forget about that the moment our lips touched.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe for fireworks to ignite between us or romantic music to erupt. Mostly, I feel warm all over, feel like my heart is working overtime, and I feel this overwhelming sense of safety and security. The warmth spreads through me and makes me feel tingly everywhere. I may not have given it much thought, but I definitely prefer this to fireworks and fanfare. It couldn’t be more perfect.

He breaks the kiss too soon and looks at me as if he’s nervous he did something wrong. I don’t have the words to tell him how amazing it was, so I just lean back towards him. This time, we release the death grip our hands were in and I bring one of my hands to his cheek and the other to the back of his neck. One of his hands covers mine and I’m pretty sure we could stay like this forever and never be bored.

That’s not our reality though. Too soon, we have to break the kiss. We have to eat and talk, but deep down, all I want to do is kiss him again and feel all the things he makes me feel.

Reluctantly we separate. “What now?” He asks me.

This feels like a don’t-make-eye-contact conversation, mostly because I don’t think I’d be able to form a coherent sentence if I do.

I rub small circles into his hand in between his pointer and thumb. It has a weirdly calming effect on me and suddenly I don’t feel like my words are stuck in my throat.

“You said you were all in if I’m ready to be seen. Well, I’m ready. I’m not afraid to show the world who we are,” I tell him. “My parents and Garrett know I’m gay. I need to tell them about you, but those are the only people I need to tell myself.”

“Same for me. I need to tell my parents… I’m out to them, but I need to tell them about you. And Abby, Nick, and Leah. They don’t even know I’m gay yet, but I’m ready for them to know. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

I look up into his eyes. My brain doesn’t need to work for me to say what I need to say. “I’m all in if you are.”

His answering smile is so dazzling that for a moment that’s all that exists. “Like… boyfriend?” He asks.

“Yeah… I mean, only if that’s what you want. I don’t know how you feel about labels,” I say quickly.

“I’m the one that brought it up,” Simon laughs. “I think I’m okay with boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends then,” I agree.

I don’t know if I want to kiss him or stare into his eyes for eternity, but the bell doesn’t give me the chance to decide. We spring up and practically have to run to get to Algebra. In Physics, Garrett grills me about where we were during lunch. From the way he ‘uh-huhs’, I don’t think he’s buying that I was in the library working on a paper.

After school, I wait for Simon outside of the school. During Algebra, he told me that he rode with Leah this morning so I’m going to give him a ride home. Abby finds me. “Simon wanted me to tell you he’s running late. Madame Blanc asked him to stay after,” she tells me. She has this weird smile on her face.

“Oh… uh… thanks,” I say.

She glances around us. “Simon told me about you in French class. I just want you to know, I think the two of you were really great together. But be warned. I went to a pretty violent high school before I moved here. Hurt him and you’ll find out just how bad it was there,” she warns me.

I can’t help but smile. Abby is tiny and petite, but I have no doubt that she means her words. “I don’t think that will be an issue,” I assure her.

“You’re cute… I can see why he likes you,” she tells me.

I feel myself getting warm and flustered. Abby grins a little as if she knows exactly what she did to me. Thank god that Simon chose that moment to arrive. “Sorry about that,” he says. He looks a little flustered.

“What did Madame Blanc want?” Abby asks curiously.

“Oh, you know. French stuff,” Simon says. I don’t miss the blush that spreads across his face. Abby doesn’t either, but before she can ask, Simon continues. “Are you still good to give me a ride?”

“Yeah. Ready when you are,” I tell him.

“See you tomorrow. And thanks… for taking it so well I mean,” he tells her.

“Of course.” Abby shrugs like it’s nothing, but I’m sure it’s everything to Simon. He gives her a quick hug then turns to me.

He follows me to my car. Once we’re both seated and buckled, I back out. “So what did Madame Blanc really want?”

I don’t expect him to answer, so I’m surprised when he does. “Did you know every teacher has a duty?” He asks.

“Um… what does that even mean?” I ask confused.

“It means that one period a day, teachers are responsible for sitting at bathrooms, patrolling the hallways, monitoring the cafeteria. Things like that,” Simon explains.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I feel like I’m missing something really important.

“Madame Blanc has her duty near the auditorium,” Simon tells me. “During our lunch. She asked me to stay after today to let me know she noticed something strange during lunch today. She saw us… and when she came to tell us we needed to get back to lunch, she heard us. She recommends that we exercise some discretion in the future.” I don’t know what to say to that. I’m moderately mortified that she knows about us, but at least I didn’t have to have that conversation with her.

It doesn’t take long to get to Simon’s. He lives maybe five minutes from the school, and that’s only if we hit traffic and get stuck at every red light. We don’t do any of those things, so we get to his house in no time.

“Do you want to come in?” He asks when I pull up to the curb outside of his house. He looks nervous to be asking.

I can’t help but smile at how cute he looks when he’s flustered. “Yeah, okay,” I agree. I’m nervous too. It’s going to be different, spending time together outside the walls of the school.

When I walk in, I can’t help but marvel at every photo on the walls. He’s told me about so many of them in our emails, but it’s so different to have a face to a photo. Like the one of Nora dressed up as a trashcan, Simon crying while he holds a fish he caught, Alice holding baby Bieber. Speaking of Bieber, as I’m looking at a picture of Simon taking a nap with his dog, Bieber bounds up to me and starts licking me all over my face.

I had no idea he would be so big. He’d never told me Bieber was a golden retriever. “Hey there,” I manage.

Simon pulls him off. “He gave you kisses. You have that effect on us,” he says with a wink.

I know I blush, but Bieber is a really good distraction. He’s really soft. Garrett has a cat, but other than that, I’ve never really been around pets. When I was little, my parents always told me we’d get a dog when I was older. When I was older, they were divorced and I knew better than to bring it up.

“He likes you,” Simon observes.

“The feelings mutual,” I mutter. I hug Bieber and he brings his head up to rub his cheek against my forehead. I’m in love. This is the most lovable dog I’ve ever met.

“So, do you want to come to my room and cuddle with me instead of my dog?” Simon asks.

I smile into Bieber. He’s bold. I never expected that side of him. “That sounds nice,” I agree. I let go of Bieber and he whines a little.

“You can come to,” Simon promises him. I don’t know if Bieber really understand him, but he follows us as we continue walking up the stairs.

I stop when I spot a picture of Simon. He looks like he’s maybe two or three. “Oh no,” Simon groans. “I forgot this was here. I’ve managed to stop looking at it whenever I go up and down the stairs.”

“I would love to hear the story behind this,” I tell him.

“Alice and Nora were born a couple of days apart. A couple of years as well, but my mom went into labor in the middle of Alice’s fourth birthday party,” he explains. “She had a Disney princess themed party and I had no reservations about wearing dresses when I was little.” A strange look crosses his face and I make a mental note to ask him about that later. “I dressed up like Cinderella for her birthday and when my mom went into labor, the priority was on getting all of Alice’s preschool friends home, not on changing me. So I was dressed like Cinderella the first time I held Nora. Though debatably, I’m not holding her, because my dad is kinda holding both of us. I was so upset, because I was a big boy and not a baby. My parents think it’s hilarious.”

“They’re not wrong,” I comment.

“Okay, you’ve got to stop looking at embarrassing pictures. My parents will show you plenty once I tell them about you,” he promises. He practically drags me up the stairs and glances at me nervously outside his bedroom.

When I step inside, I can’t help but look all around. His room is messy. I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else and it’s not like it’s dirty. But there are clothes everywhere, books thrown haphazardly on every surface, and scattered CDs. Despite the mess on every surface, his bed is perfect. It’s made and there’s not a single article of clothing on top of his comforter. I wonder if he planned this far ahead.

“I have a weird thing about my bed,” he explains sheepishly. “I don’t know what it is. I make it every day and I don’t like it to be cluttered. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s like my sanctuary.”

I smile. I feel like this is the first little, weird tidbit I am learning about him. It makes me appreciate that there’s more to learn about him.

He sits down on the bed and he sits down next to me. HWe kiss briefly, but then Bieber jumps up onto his bed and pretty much demands cuddles. Who are we to deny him?

It feels like such a normal thing. Leaning against his backboard with my arm around his shoulders and Bieber napping between us. I wish I could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

When his mom gets home, we know our time is up. I kiss Simon quickly before I leave. “Call me once you tell them.”

“I will,” he promises me. “The next time we talk, everyone will know that we’re in a relationship.”

“They’ll know we are boyfriends.” Saying it sends a thrill through me.

I kiss him again, hug Bieber, and leave. I call Garrett in the car on my way home. I feel like my blood is pumping through my veins, leaving me in a constant state of excitement. “Hey,” he says. He sounds upset. “Up for a movie night?”

“They’re fighting again?” I guess.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“Come on over. My mom had the early shift, so she’s making dinner tonight. I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

“Where were you?” he asks curiously.

“I’ll tell you when I see you,” I promise. Garrett’s parents have been fighting for a couple of months now. We’re still not sure what happened between them, but whatever it is apparently happens a couple of times a week. Garrett spends more nights sleeping on the floor of my bedroom than he does in his own house. I feel for him, because I remember what the fighting was like. My parents fought for months before they separated.

Garrett’s car is already parked in front of my house when I get home. I know he helped himself inside. He’s no stranger to my mom. In fact, my mom is the reason he knows I’m gay. The day after I came out to her, Garrett spent the night. She told me I needed to leave my door open and naturally, Garrett was a little curious about that. He took it really well.

I walk in and Garrett is tasting the sauce my mom makes. We usually end up doing quick dinners, because she usually works late. So when she has the early shift or when she’s off, she really goes all out.

I guess we’re doing pasta for dinner, which means she’ll have made the sauce from scratch. “Hey,” I call. “Did you drop your stuff off in my bedroom?”

I know he didn’t because I can see his stuff by the kitchen table. “I was waiting for you,” he tells me. He grabs his stuff and follows me up the stairs.

“Door open,” my mom calls from the kitchen.

“So she still doesn’t believe you’re not interested in me?” Garrett asks. I had been worried that would bother him, but he just seems to find it really funny.

“She’ll probably believe it after tonight.” I put my bag by my desk. After spending a few hours in Simon’s bedroom, mine seems too clean.

“What exactly does that mean?” He asks. He goes to my closet and pulls out the sleeping bag and blankets that we had long since stopped stowing in the linen closet.

I play around with some papers on my bed before I say, “Simon is my boyfriend.”

“No shit,” Garrett says. “I knew something was going on with the two of you, but boyfriends?”

“Yeah… we’ve been anonymously emailing for a couple of months now and we’ve been talking through Mr. Wise’s poems all week.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you were literally writing love poems for each other?” Garrett asks.

“I guess so,” I admit.

“This is great,” Garrett says excitedly. “I’m happy for you man.”

“Thanks.” We linger in my bedroom for a few minutes until my mom calls us down. “I’m going to tell her at dinner.”

“Okay, well I think she’ll be more excited than I am, but I am not sitting in there if she’s going to roll out another sex talk like she did when she found out you liked someone,” Garrett warns me.

I chuckle. “What, you don’t like my mom going into excruciating detail about gay sex?” I ask sarcastically.

Garrett shakes his head. “I learned more about sex during that conversation than I ever wanted to learn from your mom,” he grumbles.

We’re both laughing as we go downstairs. “You two seem like you’re in a good mood,” my mom observes. I know exactly where her mind is.

“I’m only going to say this one more time. Garrett is a wonderful human being and he is my best friend, but there is nothing romantic between us and there will never be anything romantic between us,” I tell her.

She purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything else as we take a seat at the table. I can’t eat. Somehow, I’m more nervous about this than when I came out to her. “Actually mom, there’s something I wanted to tell you. Before I say this, I want to emphasize: nothing romantic between Garrett and I.” I stare at her intently and don’t go on until I’m sure she believes me. “I have a boyfriend. His name is Simon Spier.”

She nods thoughtfully. “When will I get to meet him?” She asks.

I frown. Ironically, we hadn’t thought that far ahead. “This weekend,” I say confidently. “We have to figure that out, but this weekend.”

“Good. I can’t wait to meet the young man that has captured your heart.”

Garrett snorts into his pasta. “Please do not say that when you meet him,” I beg. While I’m pretty sure it’s going to take a lot to scare him off, but I don’t want to take any chances.

“No promises. So tell me about him,” she requests.

“He’s really sweet and funny,” I tell her. “He’s impulsive in the best way and he always knows what to say. He was there for me before I came out to you and he’s a big part of the reason I was able to do it. He always looks like he’s deep in thought. He’s just amazing.” I don’t realize I’m rambling until I notice that my mom and Garrett are both staring at me.

“Do you need us to leave you alone with your thoughts?” Garrett teases.

“Shut up,” I mutter. I turn back to my pasta and refuse to answer a single question about Simon.

Simon calls me a little after nine. Garrett is laying down on my floor and I am sitting on the edge of my bed. I ignore Garrett’s stare as I answer the phone. I put Simon on speakerphone. I figure if I’m going to be rude and take a phone call, the least I could do is let Garrett listen in. Plus, he learned about gay sex with me. We don’t really have secrets anymore. “Hi,” I whisper.

“Hi,” he whispers back.

“How’d it go?” I ask him.

“Really well. They want to meet you.” I pointedly avoid looking at Garrett.

“My mom wants to meet you too. This weekend,” I tell him hesitantly.

“Tomorrow?” He asks. “We can make the day of it. Do lunch at one of our houses, dinner at the other. And maybe just the two of us for breakfast.”

I grin. “That sounds really nice,” I agree. I know I’m blushing and I’m going to hear about this from Garrett later.

“So one more order of business,” Simon says.

“What’s that?” I ask uncertainly.

“So we’re like freaking official, right? We’re going to call each other boyfriends and all that,” he confirms.

“Yes,” I say slowly.

“What do you think about being Facebook official?” he asks. He sounds really nervous.

Something about his nerves and the cuteness of asking before he does it makes me smile. I’m already reaching for my laptop. “Let’s do it,” I say.

It takes me less than a minute. “Bram Greenfeld is no longer single,” I say out loud. Three minutes later, I get the notification that Simon Spier is in a relationship.

Garrett immediately pulls out his phone. “Why isn’t there a love button? Get on it Zuckerberg,” he grumbles. I roll my eyes at him.

“So what’s our plan now?” Simon asks. “Do we keep it classy or blast our newsfeed with kissing selfies.”

“Kissing selfies, obviously,” I tell him. I blush at the thought of taking a picture of that, much less sharing it with people. “And we need to create posts every week for our anniversary.”

“Only if those posts are written purely as sonnets,” Simon adds. “And we have to tell each other how much we miss each other.”

“I do miss you though,” I admit. I can feel Garrett smiling in my direction, but I still ignore him.

“I miss you too.” I’m smiling impossibly big. “I’ve gotta go. My parents and Nora have been grilling me for over an hour about you and they’re not quite done. So brace yourself, because tomorrow all their questions will be for you.” Behind his joke, I’m pretty sure I detect a trace of fear.

“Can’t wait,” I say seriously. “I’m going to love your family. They’re not going to scare me off. Nothing will.” I glance at Garrett. I am really never going to hear the end of this, but I don’t care. He needs to hear it. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Simon says happily.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I promise.

“I’ll call you when I wake up.”

He’s already hung up when I whisper, “can’t wait.”

“Dude, you are so far gone,” Garrett teases.

“Yeah,” I agree. Somehow, that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.

I’m up early the next morning and I check my phone every couple of minutes. It annoys Garrett to no end. “He’ll call when he calls,” he says grumpily as I pace.

“I know,” I say. “We just have a pretty big day ahead of us.”

“Yeah. meeting the parents. That’s a big step,” he observes.

“You know, it doesn’t feel like one,” I tell him. “I feel like we were moving so slow for months and months that now we’re making up for lost time.”

“I wish I could say I understand, but I’ve never felt that way about someone before,” Garrett tells me.

“Not even Leah?” I ask. It blows my mind that he likes Leah, because she doesn’t give him the time of day, but I guess I can speak from experience that love makes no sense.

“I like Leah a lot, but we’ve never come close to being something,” he points out.

I nod and my phone rings. I practically trip over Garrett to get to it. Thank God, it’s Simon. “Hey,” I say trying to sound like I didn’t just run across my room and jump over Garrett to get here.

“Hey. You down for Waffle House this morning? I can come pick you up,” Simon offers.

“I’m down for anything with you,” I tell him. Maybe Simon’s not the only one that can be bold.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Simon promises.

“See you soon.”

I turn to Garrett once we hang up. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“No way. I’m not third wheeling with the two of you,” Garrett warns.

“Are you okay to go home?” I ask. He hesitates, so I quickly add, “you can stay here. You know my mom won’t mind. As long as you need.”

“Thanks,” he mutters. I think it still embarrasses him that this happens. It’s hard enough to know your parents are fighting, it’s so much harder to know that it’s so bad it drives you out.

“And if you stay here, you get to be here when my mom meets Simon. We both know you want to be here to see that,” I joke.

“Maybe she and I should strategize,” he says. He looks like Christmas came early. I don’t know what I’m setting myself up for, but if it cheers him up, it’s worth it.

Our day is wonderful and scary and embarrassing and perfect. Simon’s family is everything he’s built them up to be and more. His older sister actually skypes in for an hour to meet me. And true to Simon’s warning, I was subjected to several hours of questions about myself.

I was grateful the spotlight would be on Simon when we got to my house. Until my mom started in on him. She actually asked him for his sexual history, which thankfully he had nothing to share.

By the time we escape to my room, both of us are mortified and Garrett is practically crying because he’s laughed so hard.

“So, this was fun,” I say. He sits on my bed and I sit next to him. Garrett takes a seat on the floor so he’s facing us.

“That was the best dinner I’ve ever been too,” Garrett comments.

“You did not help. ‘Hey Simon, haven’t you had a girlfriend?’ Why? Just why?” I ask. I’m not really upset and he knows that.

“I figured you might as well get everything out there tonight,” Garrett shrugs. “Plus, seeing the two of you so flustered… Man, who knew it was so fun to mess with someone?”

I roll my eyes. Suddenly, something occurs to me. Simon and Garrett haven’t really been talking. I realize that we’ve sat at the same lunch table, but until recently, neither of us had really had a conversation with Simon. It is really important to me that Simon and Garrett know each other.

“Why don’t the three of us get breakfast tomorrow morning?” I ask. “The two of you can get to know each other more.”

“Sure,” Garrett says slowly.

Simon nods. “I’m good with that. I’ve gotta get home, but I’ll meet the two of you tomorrow morning?” He confirms.

I nod. He glances at Garrett and kisses me on the cheek. He starts to leave, but I pull him back and kiss him for real. He’s bright red when we break apart and has a sappy smile on his face. “See you tomorrow,” he whispers.

“See you tomorrow,” I confirm.

He leaves and I ignore Garrett as he ‘awws’ at us.

Our weekend is far too short for our liking.

I’m eager to see Simon again the whole ride to school. I’m over fifteen minutes early to English class and I can’t help but smile when I notice that Simon is already sitting on the couch. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he answers.

“So, I’ve been thinking about today,” I say.

“Me too,” he admits.

“What if we just did it? During this first period? We’re going to have to share some poem anyway. Why not turn it into a coming out thing?” I ask.

“Seriously?” He asks. I nod. “I think that’s freaking perfect.”

I chuckle. “Great. So we’re doing this for real, huh?”

“It’s about time, don’t you think?” he asks.

“Long overdue,” I agree.

Mr. Wise must have had a long weekend, because he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He tells us we have our choice of poem today.

This works out, because Simon and I decide to work together on the poem. Mr. Wise is confused when both of us go to the front of the classroom to present it and I feel the butterflies swirling in my stomach. I glance at Simon. He looks equally nervous, but we’re ready for this. We’re ready. We’d decided to alternate each line and I take one last deep breath before I begin reading the first line.

 

_It’s time to meet the world, time to say hello._

_It’s time to stop hiding and let you all know._

_The people we are deep, deep down inside._

_The people we’re no longer going to hide._

_You think you know us, you think that we’re us._

_But in reality we’ve been hiding what’s makes us thus._

 

_It’s time to meet the world, time to say hello._

_It’s time to stop hiding and let you all know._

_This secret in us presses down and down._

_This secret that we’re about to spread all around._

_So here it is and here it comes._

_Listen up for this outcome._

 

_It’s time to meet the world, time to say hello._

_It’s time to stop hiding and let you all know._

_Here we are and we are here._

_Listen up and you will hear._

_That the secret that we must say._

_Is that the two of us together are gay._

 

_It’s time to meet the world, time to say hello._

_It’s time to stop hiding and let you all know._

_We are not ashamed to be who we are and let you see._

_We are out and proud and who we are meant to be._

_This is our great love story and we hope you understand._

_This is us as we stand here hand in hand._

 

I reach for Simon’s hand and he squeezes it. Two more stanzas.

 

_It’s time to meet the world, time to say hello._

_It’s time to stop hiding and let you all know._

_This is who we are, we’re not going anywhere._

_Of this, we just want you to be aware._

_This is our truth and this is our story._

_This is our moment, this is our glory._

 

Last stanza, and quite possibly the most frightening part of the poem. It’s also where we gave up on our rhyming scheme.

 

_Thank you for giving us a chance to share._

_We hope that moving forward now, we hope we may state._

_We hope that you will realize that we’re still ourselves._

_In fact, we’re more us than we’ve been of late._

_So we’re saying hello, we’re meeting this world._

_Whether the world likes us back is dependent on whether._

_You can accept who we are and we hope that you will._

_And know that regardless, we’re in this together._

 

For a full minute after we finish, I am almost overwhelmed by this intense vulnerability. No one says a word. Mr. Wise’s mouth is wide open and his eyes are wide.

Then Abby starts to clap. It catches on after a moment. As if it isn’t terrifying enough to bare our souls like this, Nick stands up and claps louder. I feel like I simultaneously want to bask in the moment and disappear entirely.

I force myself to look at each of our classmates in turn. Not one of them looks disgusted or angry. Maybe Mr. Wise had the right idea with making us write poems, because maybe it makes us feel a little closer to each other. Maybe if we hadn’t been sharing our deepest, darkest thoughts for these past two weeks, this would have gone differently.

It gives me so much hope that everything will be okay. As Simon smiles at me as we take our seats, I truly believe it. I truly believe everything will be just fine.


End file.
